BLUEMONT, Virginia - The slender young man with the chestnut tan and half-moon smile stepped back from the woodland path to let all 11 of us pass. One cordial greeting followed another.

Surely, as he stood under the weight of his pack, resting his arms on his hiking poles, he was glad to see other faces in the dense green of the Appalachian Trail. Maybe even faces as old as his mother's. In turn, we weekend hikers could only admire someone who looked pretty serious about the long haul.

"I just hit my 1,000-mile mark," he said, with cheer in his voice. That meant he was about halfway between the AT's southern end in Georgia and the northern end in Maine. He was what they call a "through-hiker."

Debbi Snook, The Plain Dealer

"Good luck on the next 1,000 miles," I said. One in our crowd whispered that such a statement could be interpreted two ways: You should always have luck. Or, dang, you really need it now.

None of us needed as much. We were on an organized two-day hike with Touch the Earth Adventures out of Athens, Ohio. We would cover a mere 8 miles on the venerated 2,200-mile trail, a comparative walk in the park.

Our tour leaders scouted the trip in advance, made overnight arrangements, brought with them a professional cook for all three meals. Best of all, we had a system for parking our cars at each end of the route so we could get back to a real bed at the end of the day. After stopping at the new brewery, of course.

I wondered, for a moment, if the term "day-hiker" might sound like a dirty word in these parts.

Many circumstances on this trip would erase that insecurity.

We gather

We met at Bears Den, a stone mansion turned hiking hostel 20 minutes from Harpers Ferry, West Virginia, about six hours south of Cleveland. The hostel is an icon of the trail, the only one owned by the Appalachian Trail Conservancy. ATC headquarters is right in the village of Harpers Ferry, full of hiking tales and guidance.

If the hostel was once someone's home, it sure was nice, if plainly welcoming inside. Glen Breining, a 36-year-old former cafe owner from Baltimore with a gargantuan wit, oversees the place 365 days a year. He calls Bears Den "an 85-year-old house that gets loved to death." Upwards of 5,000 hikers stay on its grounds each year, most camping on lawns and paying an extra $13 fee for a hot shower, others staying in the house with full shower privileges.

Our introductory session was alternately military-like and dreamy, optimum conditions if a bunch of women are going to work in unison.

Debbi Snook, The Plain Dealer

Mimi Morrison, trip leader, said the hikes would be "like being in a sphere of green energy, with a special pass to the universe." What sounds corny in print was familiar and meaningful to those who know Morrison from her other trips to Hocking Hills and South Carolina. She's a great believer in the healing power of walking and paddling through nature.

Heather Cantino, who would be lead hiker each day, said the second day of our trip would be in an area "like a primeval forest, full of big trees, wildflowers and great botanical life.

"I know where the Showy Orchids are," she added, "and I'll be on the lookout for them." A murmur of approval followed in the crowd of nature-lovers.

"Nobody has to hike any faster than they want," added Morrison. "We have to stay together, but we can spread out."

Other rules: Pack it in, pack it out. And no taking home anything from the trail.

"My own belief," said Cantino, "is that the trail should be left as we find it, so that everyone can experience it as if they were the first person ever there."

Morrison pulled out a tube of Tecnu, a treatment for poison ivy, which anyone could use. She also noted that the first hike, at five miles, would be a rocky challenge.

"You'll need good shoes," she said.

"Don't worry, I have three other pairs in the car," said a stylish member of the group, "including a pink pair."

Another retorted: "Stilettos?"

We went to bed laughing, all of us nearly filling the hostel's 12-bunk room. By the end of the trip, Morrison would buy each top-bunker an official trail bandanna as a special thanks. Everyone who shared our two bathrooms and one shower earned it.

I brought the earplugs Morrison suggested in the packing list, but fell asleep without them after counting 10 different ways of snoring.

We start

I have only two rules of hiking. I don't hike alone in case I fall and need help. And I'm terribly afraid of accidentally walking down a trail between a fiercely protective mother bear and her cubs.

Bears Den had a giant photo poster of a black bear in the living room and a totem of a bear family carved realistically into an old tree. Gave me the creeps.

Debbi Snook, The Plain Dealer

We were a mile into the trail on the first day when a study group formed around a series of droppings.

"Bear," said one, three others agreeing.

"Here's a picture of bear poop on the internet," said another, holding up her iPhone. "It looks just like this."

The stuff on the ground looked like horse poop to me, but someone pointed out that there weren't any hoof prints.

That gnawed on me for the next two miles. I had no pepper spray, just a camp knife in my pack. But it was way down in the bottom, under the quinoa and Thai peanut sauce lunch prepared by Jacky Brown, a quart of drinking water, emergency space blanket, moleskin to put over blisters, and the rest. I realized that someone could get attacked before I could get my hands on the knife. Yeah, and that someone could be me.

A few miles later, we saw another pile of "bear" poop - with a hoof print next to it.

So much for needing my knife, which was now clipped to a strap on my pack. Like Barney Fife, I found it handy when Cantino and Morrison asked me to sever some invasive bittersweet vines that were strangling a grove of saplings. I don't think they have named a special edition knife for that yet.

Oh, yes, the hike was terrific. Expansive views of the Shenandoah Valley, trickling streams, a hiking stick to help me balance my way over pointed rocks, lovely lunch, and some good laughs.

It was hot, in the 80s, and the terrain, known as the "roller coaster" section of the trail, was getting to me, my sweatband, my left knee and my bunion. True to her word, Morrison sat with me for an extra few minutes so I could cool down and finish, at my own pace, the bit of hike left.

Not too old

Grandma Gatewood, that legendary hiker from Southern Ohio, traversed the Appalachian Trail several times, all the way into her 70s. Older hikers have done it, too, showing that age is not the point. Mental and physical condition are at the top of the requirement list.

I talked to a 48-year-old hiker, a guy who called himself by the trail nickname of Marty McFly. He always wanted to hike the AT, and when he got laid off from his job, the time was right. He loved it, he said, although he missed his dogs and his motorcycles.

Back at Bears Den, several white-bearded guys rimmed the dining room table, none of them looking up from his own private quart of Ben & Jerry's ice cream. The treat comes with a "deluxe stay," a $30 package including a bunk, a shower and free do-it-yourself pancakes in the morning.

Later I'd meet Todd Lewis, a 30-something tech guy from Akron, on a solo, 150-mile hike after satisfying all his family vacations.

When I made a stop at the registration desk to talk again to Breining, the manager, I introduced myself to two Minnesotans from St. Cloud, stamping their trail "passports" with the Bears Den logo.

Susan Beyer and Ed Rauch were both in their 60s and recently retired, an age that swelled my admiration. They could be in recliners sucking down beers and watching "Wheel of Fortune."

But 2,200 miles?

"It's just one mile, many times," said Byer. In about six months' time.

Later, she told me that two weeks into the hike she found herself sitting on a rock, crying uncontrollably about what she had decided to do.

But then it ended.

"They say on the trail that a breakdown is really a breakthrough," she said.

Green space

Our second day of hiking was exactly that "sphere of green energy" that Morrison presaged. I love plants, and got to see a whorled-leaf medicinal Wild Yam, plenty of Mayapples and their white blossoms hidden under a single green leaf umbrella, and the promised Showy Orchids.

Although we didn't use our phones much on the trail, Cantino encouraged me to email her husband, Phil, with a shot I took of a plant with sweet lavender and white blossoms stacked on a single stalk.

"Scutellaria Serrata," came the reply. "Showy Skullcap." Wow. I'd never even met Phil.

It would be easy to hike through without seeing or knowing some of the rarities in this protected natural area section of the trail. But a lot of us were plant curious, a fun gathering of knowledge that always pays off on the next hike.

Our group started stretching out, with Cantino stopping once in a while to let the accordion of people re-group. I liked those times in between, when I felt in good company but couldn't see anyone ahead or behind. For a few moments at a time, the woods were mine alone.

Once again, we had parked cars at the beginning and the end of the trail. With one of our cars down with repairs, Breining helped in the transport. "As long as I have the time," he said. Drivers-for-hire are also available, although advance arrangements need to be made.

Breining once fielded an unexpected call from a woman who wanted a pickup at a trailhead. He was busy and told her he couldn't make it. She dissolved in tears.

"Somebody's got to get me out of here," she wailed. Breining grabbed his keys.

That's not his favorite kind of hiker. Nor were the young men years ago who had a few beers and started a fight over whose pack was the lightest. Bears Den now has a "no-alcohol" rule.

"I'll tell you what kind of hikers I like," he said, on the way to the second day's trail. "We had this Japanese group and one couple took a wrong turn and couldn't be found for a couple of hours. When they were found and told they were off the trail, they said it was too bad. Where they walked was so beautiful, it should have been part of the trail."

In our two days, no one got lost and no one tested any strength they didn't have. We weren't going to ascend the boulders of Mount Katahdin in Maine. But we did collect joy, every step of the way.

"I hiked the Appalachian Trail once in the Smokies," said Andrea Reik of Athens. "My husband slept in the car while I walked.

Stone lodge is 150 yards from the Appalachian Trail. Sleeps 26, most in bunk rooms, with a private room that sleeps 6. Bunk plus shower fees are $17 a night for those on foot; $23 for those arriving by car; $30 a night for hikers to get bunk, shower, laundry, pizza, ice cream, soda.

Cottage with electricity, fireplace, outdoor privy and hand-pumped water is off site, sleeps 8. Call for rates.

Campground has privy privileges, $9 a night (free for those 6 and under). Parking is $3 per day for all cars. Group rates available.

Guided outdoor adventure trips for women in Ohio, South Carolina, North Carolina, Virginia, Cape Cod and Costa Rica. Paddling excursions for families and children in Hocking Hills. Led by Mimi Morrison. Another Bears Den trip is planned for November 8-10.